Tuesday, September 29, 2009

I spent a good portion of my childhood with the uneven halves of a L'eggs pantyhose egg stuck under my shirt, one round boob, one pointy boob, all eventual woman. I was a little infatuated with boobs, breasts. Tits. Really there is no word I am comfortable with. With which I am comfortable, suddenly the Church Lady, in the face of mammaries unable to end my sentence with a preposition. Rack!

But October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and yesterday Zoey put on my bra and stared at herself in the mirror. It's funny, the very human interest we all have in them. Melons, tomatoes, puppies. And so today I talk about jugs, and the many ways in which we celebrate them.

They come in all sizes, though something tells me this very tired lady did not come by hers naturally. Nor did he, though strangely his are more realistic.In high school I thought I HAD to wear cute little bras, tiny Calvin Klein triangles of sheer cotton blush. So I did and spent grades 9 through 12 with my arms over my chest hiding the tiniest hint of nipple. Another word that is hard to say. Highbeams, what can I say? I run cold. If only I had these breast warmers to stuff into my Calvins.Often our infatuation with boobs causes us to do stoopid things. Like this shirt. A cod piece for cans, a Don't for Danny Devitos. (And yes, I found a list of slang for breasts and some people do call them Danny Devitos. Pia Zadoras. Isaac Newtons? Where have I been that mine have no proper given name?)And the men who love us so, even when we wear stoopid shit, perhaps because we wear stoopid shit. Let us not forget, for they have chi chis, too.Even this little man, cute as can be. Sizzle chest, at three?And then this. The reason we are all slightly afraid of them. Knockers (Fuckers). Those beautiful funbags that sometimes are not so. I wish I could say something here to celebrate the courage of women diagnosed with breast cancer but I think this woman says it all. It is what it is, staring straight at the camera. One day Zoey will grow up to knead her breasts the week after her period. But they are always lumpy, she will think, her fingers searching for nothing, please let there be nothing, wait--isthatsomething? One round boob, two round boobs, this girl who spilled from my egg like a secret, all eventual woman staring into a mirror. I want her sentence to end with a preposition, an exclamation point, ellipses... I want my daughter to end her sentence on her own terms, not interrupted with a question mark. Please celebrate Breast Cancer Awareness Month; click here to learn how you can help.

It wasn't until I breastfed did I actually have something to be proud of...and proud I was! Especially the moment I bent down in a store to retrieve something, and a young sales clerk decided he would enjoy the best show in town (at my level)! For a moment, I was proud! ha!

And yes, this is a very important month, my mother is a breast cancer survivor, and I am grateful for all who support the research and give back to finding a cure.

The honesty of the breast cancer photo is stunning and fabulous. The other thing that comes to mind, if this was surgery for a man, would they have figured out a way to make it less brutal? I know and would do anything to save a life but it always makes me wonder. MB

I can't believe I'm not the only one who created the L'eggs boobs. I'm not alone in my weirdness!! (Perhaps only on that particular point, but still!) They left the most wicked red circles, didn't they?

Wow. Did that bring back some memories for me. Great post. I thank you for many reasons.Mary Beth: from one who knows--surgery doesn't have to be like that all. It looks like that woman chose to have a complete mastectomy without reconstruction. Maybe she had complications. I don't know. Everyone's story is different. But, regardless of the outcome, it's no story a woman wants to tell.XoRo

i'm not a huge fan of breasts. i'm told by some friends that this is because i have relatively large ones. all i know is that they grew to ridiculous proportions while i was pregnant and they have never looked the same since.and breast cancer can suck it.

Hi, I'm Susannah and I love shiny things, swimming, the smell of fresh cut grass, orange blossoms and horse shit. The feel of my children's eyelashes on my cheek is a live virus that grows in me, multiplies and sustains. I will never understand Amish Friendship Bread.

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